


Deprivation

by HPFandom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Explicit Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Out of Character, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romance, Sexual Content, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-07
Updated: 2007-02-07
Packaged: 2018-10-01 12:47:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10190195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HPFandom_archivist/pseuds/HPFandom_archivist
Summary: What Harry truly wants, he will never get off his nemesis, but he can't help coming back night after night





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

**Disclaimer** \- Don't own them  
 **Warnings** \- bondage, deprivation, toys, DP, mentions of all kinds of fun and games, almost HBP compliant, but it was Draco that sealed the deal, major OOC-ness

**A/N** \- I have no idea where this came from, or its point in life, but it came and it was vague and I wrote it, so here it is. But I can't make it any better than this, so feel free to point out what needs to change, my Muse won't tell me.

 

 

"Deprivation is a beautiful colour on you."

Harry groaned, and rocked a little harder in his restraints, trying to coax the older man into action. He was met with a cold laugh, and felt anger flare in his chest. He was sick of being teased like this, but he couldn't stop himself coming back. They'd done so much together; done everything together but the one thing Harry craved the most. His entire soul craved it, and he was denied it time and time again. 

Voldemort smirked, and twirled a strand of messy raven hair through his fingers, lacing them in tightly before yanking Harry's head hard, making a gasp of air try and escape through gagged lips. He won the war, but he hadn't killed the boy. No, that honour he had been saving for Draco, a reward for killing Dumbledore and bringing the Saviour to Voldemort's clutches. But, when the boy had responded favourably to a teasing hand on his thigh, shivering at a touch that should have repulsed him, Voldemort had decided to play with him for a while longer. 

That was how they came to be here. Over six months he'd introduced the boy to all kinds of pleasures, all kinds of depraved acts, and found that Severus had done the boy a great injustice in his claims he was un-teachable. No, Harry was quite the opposite; a very willing and eager student. And day by day, Voldemort was teaching him in the art of pleasure.

As the toy inside of him was twisted, bruising his prostate and making sweat bead on his forehead, Harry looked up into the cold red eyes of his nemesis, his teacher, his captor, his lover…it was too confusing trying to find a word for their connection, and Harry had to look away, closing his eyes as he was worked slowly and firmly with the toy. Once he'd won the war, and his body had calmed down, Voldemort had lost some of the snake-like features that had adorned him that first night he materialised in the graveyard. Black hair fell poker straight to his shoulders, and was held back with a wine-coloured ribbon. Magic had given him better facial features; a nose and lips to make him look more human; Harry suspected it was narcissism bred from being seen by his subjects so often, appearing in papers and hailed as a wonderful leader (because who in their right mind would write the truth?). It would have been funny, that one so powerful would be concerned with something as petty as his looks, but Harry found that laughter didn't come so easily anymore.

He groaned as the toy sped up, Voldemort controlling it with nothing more than a thought. As if even a dildo would risk disobeying the Dark Lord. Harry's eyes must have shown his wry amusement, because immediately Voldemort was close up to him.

"Enjoying yourself?"

Harry stayed still, holding red eyes until the gag was removed. He opened and closed his jaw a few times, releasing the stiffness before answering his mentor…his captor…his Master…still no words for what he was.

"Use me, my Lord."

He heard the subtext, the plea made with pride and composure, and Voldemort smiled calmly at the man displayed so beautifully for his pleasure. He loved Harry in the restraints; a swing around the small of his back and straps around his wrists and knees, holding him up in the perfect position to be used as magic supported the weak spots. And Voldemort used him. They did everything together, no-one daring to question why the Dark Lord was keeping his greatest rival alive and well-cared for in a beautifully furnished suite of rooms. But no-one knew what went on late at night, when they came down to the dungeons together. No-one knew what was offered to him so willingly, and no-one would have been able to refuse that offer, not even the Dark Lord.

Harry groaned as slender fingers slid into him alongside the toy. He threw his head back, knowing the straps and the spells would support him and prevent him coming to harm. This had been threatened before; Voldemort liked to tell Harry in excruciating detail about a new game before they actually did it. And tonight, tonight he was going to fulfil his promise, he was going to stretch Harry's limits, and the brunette shivered in anticipation. 

Voldemort checked that the cock-ring and restraint spell were both working perfectly before sliding a second finger into Harry, kissing the brunette forcefully and feeling his ministrations being returned with gusto. He growled as the taste he had grown to depend on exploded in his mouth, and bit Harry's tongue gently, relishing the air that caressed his face as the brunette sucked in a breath. He had to pull away from the kiss to slowly work his fingers further into Harry, and he saw the first flicker of pain flash over his face. It wasn't his way to soothe the boy with words, it would reveal too much, but he did still his fingers, giving the boy time to acclimatise to the burn before continuing. Everything that he did was for the boy; altering his facial features to something more aesthetic, reigning in his Death Eaters and their murderous ways, it was all to make Harry more comfortable.

"Please!"

The shout focused both of their minds on the task at hand, and wordlessly Voldemort removed the restraints and levitated Harry to the bed in the corner, settling the brunette spread out on his back before pushing two fingers back inside him. This was a game Voldemort had played before, but it had always been played to cause pain to the toy; barely preparing him and relishing the screams of pain. But not with Harry, not like that. Harry was given time and grace to acclimatise, and the movement of his hips told Voldemort that he was ready for more.

A third finger caused tears to well up in Harry's eyes, and they spilled over his cheeks as he was stretched past his limits slowly and methodically. He needed this, needed it to be the night that Voldemort gave him his desires, but deep down he knew it wouldn't be. Deep down he knew that he wouldn't get what he needed, and buried deep in his soul he knew why, and he accepted it as the price to pay for being allowed back here night after night.

Voldemort could barely wait; barely contain himself as he looked at the beautiful young man spread so wantonly on the bed. Positioning his body carefully, he used two fingers to hold Harry open as he pressed his swollen head against the boy's entrance, pushing gently, feeling Harry tense and meeting his eyes calmly.

"Relax, the pain will be brief."

Had he been asked, he would have stopped right then, but he knew the boy wouldn't ask. Harry wanted this as much as he did, and with a deep growl Voldemort slipped his swollen head through the tight ring of muscle to lie on top of the dildo. Tears flowed freely down the brunette's cheeks, and he reached a hand to stroke them away, the gesture a simple show of tenderness as they both took time to get accustomed to the new sensations.

As he was slowly impaled, Harry felt his body trying to shut down, unable to process the new sensations and the pain lancing through his lower body. He gritted his teeth and took deep breaths, knowing from past experience that if he could ride out the pain, it would be better for him, he'd feel better, feel alive again. He let out a mewl as Voldemort came to rest hips to buttocks with him, both of them gasping in breath as they tried to hold off. Harry knew the expression well; he knew it wouldn't be long now.

Voldemort began thrusting, Harry tight around him and the toy cool against his prick. Gods, it felt so good, the tightness making the whole experience so virginal, and he felt his body coiling, preparing for the death and rebirth that came every night. He thrust in harder, moaning and growling as his sweat dripped to mingle with the boy's. Minutes after he had first settled home, he was exploding inside his lover, painting the brunette with his colours and falling down on top of him as his arms gave way. When his wits finally returned to him, he pulled gently out of Harry, careful not to hurt the brunette as he took out the toy as well. Harry was crying, his mouth open but no noise coming out, tears drenching the pillow under his head as Voldemort stood and pulled his robe back on, heading to the door.

He couldn't give the boy what he wanted, even though his entire mind was taken up with imagining the brunette as he came, his face exploding with pleasure. But Voldemort knew that as soon as that pleasure appeared, it would be replaced with disgust; he knew that once satisfied of his darkest desires, Harry would not come back to his quarters every night and offer his body to be used. So he deprived himself of the only thing he had every wanted this strongly, in order to keep the boy coming back to him night after night. Their power-play, their uneasy truce, was all that kept him alive, and the Darkest wizard to have ever lived could not bring himself to extinguish the fire that burned between them. Reaching the door, he turned back to the sobbing, desperate young man and spoke softly to him.

"Deprivation is a beautiful colour on you."


End file.
